The Maid of the Cyprus Isle, and other poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

THE MAID OF THE CYPRUS ISLE.

A BALLAD.

I. PART I.

I

Though many, full many a tale has been told,
Of gallant young knights and of warriors bold;
And many a tale of a virgin divine,
In strains of a muse more exalted than mine.
Yet gentles give ear to my ballad awhile,
As I sing of the Maid of the Cyprus Isle.

II

Full dark was the night, and no cheering star shone—
Ah! who is yon maiden who wanders alone?
Her dark hair dishevelled, her cheek fair and pale,
And her long flowing garments that wave in the gale;
Who has traversed this mountain for many a mile?
It is the fair Maid of the Cyprus Isle!

III

What is it that makes her thus brave the rude storm,
And thus to the tempest expose her fair form?
What is it that makes her thus hasten along,
The gloomy and dark-shaded forests among?
'Tis Love—which e'en sorrow and fear can beguile,
That impels on the Maid of the Cyprus Isle.

IV

No maid was more happy, no maid was more fair,
Her young tender heart was a stranger to care;
She danced by the fountains, she sung in the hall,
Amidst her attendants the fairest of all.
Till Reginald's beauty—till Reginald's smile
Stole the heart of the Maid of the Cyprus Isle!

V

But he'd left her to fight in his country's cause,
And vainly she wished his return from the wars.
Now she hastens her steps to the goddess's shrine,
For him to solicit her favours divine.
This hope does the tedious journey beguile,
Of Ianthé, the Maid of the Cyprus Isle.

VI

The mountains she passed as the morning appeared,
The storm from the face of the heavens was cleared.
The myrtles, which glittered with dew-drops around,
Showed the maiden the Temple of Venus was found.

She rested, with fear and fatigue for awhile,
Then entered, the Maid of the Cyprus Isle.

VII

At the feet of the goddess she sunk on her knee,
And her gifts she presented, so costly to see.
A vase of pure silver, a myrtle of gold,
With berries of rubies, all fair to behold;
And these on the high marble altar were laid,
While thus, in soft accents, petitioned the maid.

VIII

“Oh, Venus, fair goddess! give ear to my prayer,
“Receive all the gifts which with hope I prepare!
“Let Reginald live! let my lover return:
“Ah, leave not, fair goddess, a maiden to mourn!
“For all that I ask is, his form once to view,
“To see him in safety!—to know he is true!”

IX

She ceased.—Lo! the statue its head gently bowed,
While the altar and gifts were immersed in a cloud.
Then suddenly blazing, they vanished in air:
Sure sign of assent from the goddess so fair.
O'erjoyed, the young maiden her gratitude poured;
And knelt at the shrine which she humbly adored.

II. PART II.

X

Who is it that sits in her palace so gay,
Surrounded by maidens in bridal array?
Her hair graceful braided, her ringlets confined
By blossoms of jasmine, that waved in the wind.
Her robes white and scarlet, embroidered with gold,
Her sandals of purple, so fair to behold?

XI

What knight is it sits by the side of the maid,
In vesture of purple, so costly arrayed?
Whose gaze is so tender, who presses her hand;—
'Tis Reginald, come from a far distant land.
And she, whose fair cheek is adorned with a smile,
Is Ianthé, the Maid of the Cyprus Isle!

XII

He had fought and had conquered—attended by fame,
His valour rewarded, triumphant he came;
That morning he hail'd the fair maid as his bride,
And now in the palace he sat by her side;
With rapture her hand to his bosom he prest.
Ah! never were lovers before half so blest!

XIII

The sun shone full bright and the tempest was chain'd,
O'er nature the calm hand of silence still reigned:

The maid led her lover thro' grove and thro' shade,
To her favourite spot, where a rivulet played;
With sonnets of love they the minutes beguile,
Who so blest as the Maid of the Cyprus Isle?

XIV

When sudden, a shriek at a distance they hear.
The maid pressed his hand in emotion and fear,
For near to their bower a tall form stood revealed,
By long ebon locks were the features concealed:
In the white hand a dagger was raised in the air,
And sobs half suppressed, wrung the bosom so fair.

XV

“Oh! hear me, false Reginald!” loudly she cried,
“And think not to save from my fury, thy bride!
“Why, why faithless youth, did'st thou leave me to mourn?
“While constant I pined for thy promised return.
“And thus, of thy absence as vain I complained,
“I heard that Ianthé that false heart had gained!

XVI

“See now, oh, deceiver! Alcesta once fair,
“But chang'd by thy falsehood, by sorrow, and care!
“Prepare, oh, vain maid! now approaches thy doom,
“Thy lover's false heart has prepared thee a tomb!”
She said, tow'rds the maid in distraction she prest,
But the dagger sunk deep in her Reginald's breast!

XVII

The murderess shrieked, as with horror she view'd
Her hand in the blood of the false one imbrued;
She saw the cold dew on his cheek still so dear—
She saw the last spark from his eye disappear—
She caught the fell poignard, and wild with despair,
She plunged the red steel in her bosom so fair!

XVIII

Ah, who is yon maid with the dark flowing hair,
In robes white and scarlet, so pale and so fair?
Who ne'er quits the mountains, but warbles so sweet,
Sad notes from her dismal and lonely retreat?
Whose gestures now frantic, now mildly composed,
Denote that her bosom 'gainst reason is closed.

XIX

Who oft in her song sighs out Reginald's name,
Then lists to the echo's which answer the same:
Who is pitied by all, but approaches to none:
Each evening who watches the set of the sun:
Who is rare seen to weep, but is ne'er seen to smile?
It is the mad Maid of the Cyprus Isle!

SONNET.

[Hark! hark! I hear each happy voice]

Hark! hark! I hear each happy voice,
Proclaim the swallow's gay return;
And at the lark's wild note rejoice—
Ah! none have cause like me to mourn!
For while the cuckoo singing wings her way,
For me she breathes a melancholy lay.
Yet does the nightingale at distance roam,
Nor can soft zephyr's voice recall her home:
Let her blythe sister then, the message bear,
And speed her voyage through the liquid air.

Then as at silent eve she sings alone,
Her pensive notes shall cheer my heart,
And dreary pleasure shall impart,
While jointly we our sorrows will bemoan;

TO MY MOTHER,

ON HER LEAVING ENGLAND.

England's far-famed country leaving,
To a distant land you go:
Few the friends you'll quit with grieving
Not for them your tears will flow.

One you'll leave in strangers' keeping,
Solitary and forlorn;
Tho' she dream of pleasure sleeping,
Joy forsakes her in the morn!

When oppressed with grief and sorrow,
None to soothe her heartfelt woe;
Happy smiles she still must borrow,
Tho' her thoughts no pleasure know.

When between us rolls the ocean,
When you land on foreign shore,
Then, my heart's too strong emotion,
Tells me we shall meet no more!

When thy tender lines perusing,
Cheers awhile my bosom's pain;
Will soft hope, my fears amusing,
Whisper—we shall meet again.

Would kind heaven, my woes relieving,
Let me see thee but depart!
I would watch thy vessel heaving,
Troubled as my tearful heart.

One, who comfort yet might give me,
He, alas! is distant far!
Since then each are doomed to leave me,
Heaven must be my comforter!

ON THE DEATH OF MY BROTHER,

WHO WAS UNFORTUNATELY LOST IN HIS MAJESTY'S SHIP TWEED, OFF NEWFOUNDLAND, NOV. 5, 1813.

Where rolls the wide Atlantic's wave,
Which dashes 'gainst the shore
Of stern America's bleak clime,
With hollow deathful roar—

There, there thou sleep'st beneath the sea,
Which swallow'd all our hopes with thee!

Remorseless death, in spring of youth,
Has snatch'd that much-loved form away;
Cold! cold, thou liest! a sea-weed shroud
Now wraps thy pale and senseless clay!
And vain are all our tears for thee,
For low thou sleep'st beneath the sea!

Tho' lost for ever here on earth,
Oh, may thy soul ascend on high!
There, where no stormy winds assail,
Enjoy blest immortality.
May we in heaven again meet thee,
Tho' now thou sleep'st beneath the sea!

THE CAVERN OF THE SHORE.

I

Soft the evening breezes flutter,
Crimson clouds have streaked the west:
O'er the town of fair Zueela,
Bright Apollo sinks to rest.

II

Afric's tall and dark brow'd children,
Faint with heat of parted day,
Now to holy mosque repairing,
To their sainted prophet pray.

III

Deep in Fezzan's fertile district,
Where the stately lion treads,
Fair Zueela rose majestic
With her green enamelled meads.

IV

Many towers and dismal caverns,
Ne'er explored by mortal eye,
For the rav'nous beast a dwelling,
Rose their ruin'd heads on high.

V

None of fair Zueela's natives
Dared approach that dreaded ground;
Brave in every other danger,
None for that had courage found.

VI

Salustan alone excepted—
Of a distant clime was he,
Nurtured in Zueela's mountains,
Bounded by the dark blue sea.

VII

Never knew he other nation;
That contain'd his whole desire;
Never knew he other parent
Than an aged hermit sire.

VIII

Well he lov'd that aged hermit,
Tenderly was lov'd again;
Never from a wayward temper
Had he caus'd the old man pain.

IX

Nineteen summers now had vanish'd,
Since an infant he was found;
Since he by a goat was nourish'd,
Nineteen years had ta'en their round.

X

To his son the aged hermit
Taught the holy Christian creed.
Well could he afford instruction,
Christian both in faith and deed.

XI

Weight of years and load of sorrows,
Brought him daily nearer death;
Calling then his child unto him,
Thus he pour'd his dying breath:

XII

“Salustan, my soul's best comfort,
“Listen to my dying voice;
“While thou liv'st, my son, remember,
“Let fair virtue be thy choice.

XIII

“In a broad and distant ocean
“Lies the land where thou wert born,
“Albion call'd—which dark-brow'd mountains
“And full beauteous meads adorn.

XIV

“Though I found thee here an infant,
“In a dream 'twas told to me;
“And another greater secret
“'Twas my fate in sleep to see.

XV

“Thou, thy parents to discover,
“Must a rugged cave explore,
“By the natives of Zueela
“Call'd the Cavern of the Shore.

XVI

“Fast I feel my strength decaying;
“Ponder what I've told thee, son;
“Now farewell, farewell for ever!
“For my destin'd days are done.”

XVII

Pointing then his hand to heaven,
Where in life he had relied:
Fast his weeping son embracing,
On his breast he sunk and died.

XVIII

Earth receiv'd the honour'd ashes
Of the hermit, now no more.
Salustan, with strong impatience,
Seeks the Cavern of the Shore.

XIX

Darkly fell the lengthen'd shadows;
Sweetly sung the nightingale,
And with notes melodious sounding,
Seem'd the youth's approach to hail.

XX

Ent'ring at the vaulted arch-way,
Soon he reach'd a moss-grown door;
Though through many a cave he wander'd,
Ne'er he'd felt such dread before.

XXI

Soon his strength of mind returning,
He had forc'd the porch-way wide;
When a strain of heavenly music
Seem'd through every arch to glide.

XXII

Onward press'd the dauntless hero;
Nought to raise his fear he found;
Many a vaulted chamber treading,
Dark and deep below the ground.

XXIII

As he grop'd his way in darkness,
Sudden gleams of light appear,
Glimmering through the half-clos'd portal
Of a high-arch'd chamber near.

XXIV

Soft and silently approaching,
Strange the sight that met his eye;
Fifty fair and beauteous damsels,
Rang'd on thrones of gold so high.

XXV

One above the rest was seated,
Fair as is the morning star,
When half-sinking in the ocean,
Bright it glimmers from afar.

XXVI

Purple robes with gold embroider'd,
Falling low beneath her throne,
Half conceal'd a silver tunic,
Which with stars of diamonds shone.

XXVII

Hair of soft and curling chestnut,
Bound by diadem of gold,
Fell upon her ivory bosom,
Fair and lovely to behold.

XXVIII

Salustan, with strange amazement,
Gazed upon the wond'rous throng;
While obedient to their princess,
Thus the maidens rais'd their song.

XXIX

“Strays the wand'ring spirit far,
“Where the sun o'er India reigns?
“Wanders he through distant air,
“O'er Brazil's majestic plains?

XXX

“Has he fail'd the youth to find,
“Destin'd for our beauteous queen?
“One of high and dauntless mind,
“Who his parents ne'er has seen.

XXXI

“One who will each peril brave,
“And the secrets will explore,
“(Choosing conquest or the grave!)
“Of the Cavern of the Shore.”

XXXII

Faint and slow the music dying,
Now the maidens ceas'd their song:
Salustan, now soft approaching,
Stood confess'd amidst the throng.

XXXIII

Bending low before the princess,
He his tale with truth unfolds;
When the chamber wide expanding,
Strange the sight his eye beholds.

XXXIV

In a silver car descending,
Bright appear'd a genii's form;
Lightning flash'd, and round him waited
All the terrors of the storm.

XXXV

“Take,” he cried, “this blade of wonder;
“Name not Heav'n while it is thine;
“Fear not aught that can assail thee,
“Shelter'd by the gift divine.

XXXVI

“If with conquest safe returning,
“'Scap'd the dangers that betide,
“Thou shalt know who are thy parents
“And wilt gain a beauteous bride.

XXXVII

“But if thou should'st fail to follow
“Councils given to thy view,
“Losing both thy bride and parents,
“Thou to life must bid adieu!”

XXXVIII

Dark and dread is yonder cavern,
Where there never light appear'd,
Save, where from the midst ascending,
High its flame a ruby rear'd.

XXXIX

See we now the dauntless hero
Enter at the vaulted door.
Him a voice now loud addressing,
As he paced the stony floor.

XL

“See!” it cried, “yon beaming ruby;
“Thou must quench its tow'ring flame.
“If thou fail'st, destruction seize thee—
“Win—and honour grace thy name.”

XLI

Thrice the ruby flame of crimson
Struck he with his magic blade;
When the roof, by flames divided,
Huge, a dragon's form displayed.

XLII

Long and fiercely they encounter'd,
Till at length a sudden blow,
Aim'd with skilful hand, the hero
Laid the vanquish'd monster low.

XLIII

Instant piercing shrieks assail'd him,
And the dragon, whirling round,
Now a lady's form presented,
Fainting—bleeding on the ground.

XLIV

“Ah, my son!” she cried, in dying,
“Now behold thy mother slain.
“Oh farewell, alas! for never
“I thy face shall see again!”

XLV

Salustan, with horror gazing,
Rais'd her bleeding in his arms;
When a lion fierce approaching
Fill'd his heart with new alarms.

XLVI

Firm he grasp'd his trusty falchion,
As he struck the monster dread;
Till the lion, roaring wildly,
At the champion's feet lay dead.

XLVII

Now beneath his form appearing,
Salustan beheld a knight,
Who, oppress'd with wounds unnumber'd,
Met his wild bewilder'd sight.

XLVIII

“Wretched youth!” he sunk exclaiming,
“Thou thy father too hast slain!
“Oh farewell, alas! for never
“I thy face shall see again!”

XLIX

Horror chill'd the hero's bosom,
Sinking down in wild dismay,
Vain he tried each fond endeavour;
Cold and dead his parents lay.

L

“Heavenly powers!” he cried, “protect me!”
Fatal, fatal was the word:
Instant peals of laughter rising,
Vanish'd from his grasp the sword.

LI

Open'd was his eye's delusion;
Parents now he saw no more.
Vain repenting of his error,
First the genii's form he saw.

LII

Waving thrice his wand of silver,
Low the hero sunk to sleep,
Borne by genii to the ocean,
They have plunged him in the deep.

LIII

Since that time no vent'rous warrier
E'er has dar'd that ground to tread:
Those dark caves, though faint and weary,
Travellers shun with cautious dread.

LIV

When that day each year returning,
High the ocean pours its wave,
Showing to the fear-struck native
Where the hero found a grave.

LV

Long 'twas left in doubt and wonder
How he came to Afric's shore;
Time has roll'd away remembrance;
Now his name is known no more.

N. B. “Zueela, a town of Africa, in Fezzan, situated in a fertile district, in which the remnants of ancient buildings, fountains, cisterns, and vaulted caves, exhibit such vestiges of ancient splendour, as will probably attract and highly reward the attention of future travellers.” —Walker's Gazetteer.

TO MARIA,

WITH A SNOW-DROP.

Fair little flower, bleak winter's friend,
Who low thy lily head dost bend,
And dost amid the snows arise,
Nor shrink'st beneath the lowering skies,
Tho' winds around thee blow;
Say did'st thou spring from Venus' tear?
Did Proserpine with timid fear,
Inclos'd in sighs, soft waft thee here,
Far from the shades below?

Or when from Pan Lodona fled,
First did'st thou raise thy snowy head,
So pure and free from guile?
“Why rather,” might the Snowdrop say,
“Did'st thou not guess I owe the day
“To fair Maria's smile?”

THE LONELY ISLE.

Far in an ocean wide and known to few,
Where silence and where sadness ever reign,
A melancholy island meets the view,
Where dreary solitude and care remain.

That lonely island, Peremalé nam'd,
Was once a damsel, lovely to behold,
As well for beauty as for virtue fam'd,
But by the gods was doom'd that form to hold.

And by the isle a monstrous rock there grew,
Which once the figure of a youth did bear;
Lichas, whom Hercules when dying slew,
And Neptune pitying plac'd thus alter'd there.

The maid for constancy well known to fame,
There chang'd by Venus in a fountain flows;
Argira was the faithful damsel's name;
And bending o'er the laurel Daphne grows.

Here pale Narcissus too, with head reclin'd,
And the pale Pytis , waving sad her leaves,
Breathe sighs unnumber'd to the passing wind;
While by their side the beauteous Phyllis grieves.

The three sad sisters there still pine in vain,
Chang'd into poplars high their heads they rear;
Lamenting for their lost Phaëton slain,
And grieving for his fate they still appear.

For ever turning to the sun's bright ray,
The fair Clytia mournful gazes there:
Her soft and sad reproaches die away,
Or float unheeded on the passing air.

There proudly walks the nymph so fair and vain,
Who deem'd her charms above heaven's glorious queen;
Known by the name on earth of Antigane,
Beneath the figure of a stork is seen.

Mute Anexarté to a pebble turn'd,
Beside the stream of Phasis lays alone;
That youth for whom in vain fair Thetis mourn'd,
Now in a river pours his sorrowing moan.

The Dove Peristera, so chang'd by love,
For aiding Venus while she gather'd flowers;
None else but she alone do happy prove,
For free she ranges in the shady bowers;
And comfort kindly on the rest bestows,
While each recounts his tale of many woes.

Pytis was changed into a pine.

Phyllis was transformed into an almond-tree.

The Heliades, daughters of Sol and Clymene, sisters to Phaeton.

THE LEGEND OF THE MOUNTAIN.

“Why on the mountain should there be
“One spot which is for ever green?
“Why round that little spot alone
“Should ever-blooming flowers be seen?

“Why lowly at the mountain's base
“Is seen a dark and desert spot,
“Where noxious weeds grow round apace,
“And where the brilliant sun shines not?”

And know'st thou not the mournful tale
Which of this mountain high is told?
Then traveller give ear awhile,
While I the story shall unfold.

Beneath that spot, for ever green,
For ever deck'd with flo'rets fine,
There sleep, united in their death,
Fair Claribelle and Leontine.

There rests too in that barren spot,
So dreary cast in dismal shade,
And shunn'd by all the village train,
Their murderer dark and lowly laid.

Of all the ladies of the court,
Young Claribelle was held most fair;
Her father was a powerful king,
And she of all his wealth the heir.

Of all the nobles of the land,
The proudest Ladolin was known;
Of all the knights for valour fam'd,
Young Leontine the foremost shone.

And Ladolin had deem'd full soon
To gain the heart of Claribelle;
But much was he by hope deceiv'd—
She lov'd her Leontine too well.

Both suitors came before the king,
Each hoping he the fair should gain.
Then both have the conditions read,
By which the princess to obtain.

For 'twas decreed, by ancient law,
Her hand should bless the vent'rous knight,
Who, in his arms, should bear her safe
To yonder mountain's topmost height.

The lovers met, and in her bower
The princess listened to his tale,
And oft with smiles she bade him hope,
He should not in his trial fail.

“Deep in a forest's safe retreat”
She said; “an aged matron lives:
“She only does the secret know,
“Which power and strength so wond'rous gives.

“Give thou this letter to her hand,
“And stay a month beneath her care;
“Then every weight past human strength,
“Shall seem to thee as light as air.

“For wert thou not provided thus,
“Vain were thy efforts to succeed;
“Prevented by the magic spell,
“Which sets at nought each mortal deed.

“Now, Ladolin, thou need'st not fear
“That knight so hateful to my view:
“Thy Claribelle shall be thy bride.
“Till then, my heart's adored, adieu!”

He mounted on his milk white steed,
He parted with his lady fair.
And still she watch'd his towering plume,
Until his form was lost in air.

But who is he who darkly stalks,
With rage and death upon his brow?
Who'd seen the tender lovers part,
Who'd heard them breathe each faithful vow?

Who well had mark'd the maid's advice,
And mounting on his fleetest steed,
He watch'd the road the lover took,
And follow'd with his swiftest speed.

The wind blew loud, the night was dark,
But Leontine still urged his way;
Impelled by love, he onward pressed,
In hopes to reach the wood ere day.

But vain the wish, for treacherous hid,
His rival fierce in ambush lay,
And vengeance rankling in his heart,
He stopped the anxious lover's way.

And ere the knight could draw his brand,
Fierce Ladolin had pierc'd his side.
He groan'd, and sunk upon the earth,
Which shuddered at the crimson tide!

Bleeding and breathless, there he lay,
Beneath his rival's murd'rous blow,
Who, from his breast, the letter took,
On which depended joy or woe.

He hid the body 'midst the briars,
And mounting on the milk white steed,
O'er hill, o'er vale, he scour'd along,
To chase remembrance of the deed!

And soon he reach'd the matron's bower,
And gave the letter to her hand:
Who knowing not the murderer's guile,
Complied with Claribelle's demand.

A month he stay'd within her hall,
She taught him all the powerful art;
And now his breast with transport glow'd,
For 'tis the day he must depart.

But let us tell of Leontine,
Who fainting 'midst the briars remain'd,
Until the morning's brilliant sun,
Display'd where blood the spot had stain'd.

Those crimson drops of horrid hue,
Have struck a shepherd's fearful sight,
Who calling all the swains around,
They search'd, and found the wounded knight.

They bore him to their friendly cot,
And tending him with anxious pain,
Recalled his fleeting spirit back—
He op'd his eyes to light again!

His strength increased each rising day,
And now the month approached with speed,
He thought upon his lady dear,
And on his rival's fatal deed.

“And shall the coward, treach'rous knight,
“Return, and win the maid divine!
“No, prosper heaven, my firm resolve,
“And Claribelle or death be mine!

“These arms shall bear the faithful maid,
“They once could ev'ry danger meet:
“I'll gain the height, and if I die,
“Twill be triumphant at her feet!”

He armed—and mounting on a steed,
He reach'd the court—his suit preferred:
Where sat the knights assembled all,
And waiting but the signal word.

And now the princess fair appeared,
She smiled upon her lover true:
Ah! little thought she of his fate,
His desp'rate purpose little knew!

But firm, relying on his strength,
While loud was heard the trumpet's sound:
She smiled, with joy and hope replete,
As firm he raised her from the ground.

He bore her up the mountain's side,
He heard the shouts his steps pursue;
Steep was the way, but on he pressed,
While love inspired his heart anew.

Ere half way up the side he'd gain'd,
He felt his trusted strength decay!
Yet dauntless still, with rash resolve,
Impetuous still he urged his way.

And now he felt his wounded side
With anguish throb; but to his sight
Appear'd, within one desp'rate leap,
The mountain's wish'd for topmost height!

With louder shouts now rung the air—
One spring the fainting hero gave,
And reach'd the spot so long desired,
But gain'd it only for a grave!

With horror shriek'd the affrighted maid,
She saw her lover bleeding lie,
In wild despair, her hands she clasp'd:
He feebly raised his dying eye.

“Oh, Claribelle!” he faintly cried,
“My faithful, constant love, adieu!
“Oh be not bride to Ladolin,
“Remember him who died for you!”

“Oh, God!” she cried, “receive the vow,
“Poured from my bleeding, breaking heart!
“As dear as I loved Leontine,
“So ev'n in death we'll never part!”

She clasp'd him dead within her arms,
Her gentle spirit fled away,
And sinking on the flow'ry turf,
Embracing death the lovers lay!

Look yonder—where, amidst the crowd,
A knight impatient hastes along,
Till reached the throne where sat the king,
Surrounded by the shouting throng.

Why starts he thus? why shakes with fear,
And now why strikes his mailed breast?
He hears the joyous croud proclaim,
That hated Leontine is blest!

Now forward move the royal train,
And o'er the mountain wide are seen,
Till gain'd with toil the topmost height,
They reached the smooth and level green.

Alas! the sight that met their eye,
Has changed their mirth to wail and woe!
Fierce Ladolin, with wild dismay,
Beheld the faithful lovers low.

He rushed before the sorrowing king,
And struck with horror at the sight,
Confessed his late repented deed,
And all his crimes displayed to light!

“Oh! when the story shall be told,
“Say not” he cried, “their murderer lived!
“But tell, by penitence impressed,
“How fearless he his death received!

“Where gloom and darkness ever reign,
“There let my silent grave be made,
“To show the passing traveller,
“Beneath that spot a sinner's laid!”

He said, and drew his glittering brand,
No arm was raised to stop the blow,
And pierced that heart, whose treacherous wiles,
To others caused such deadly woe!

Where rest the lovers cold remains,
All faithful swains and maidens fair,
Love, as they cull the fragrant flowers,
When day declines, to wander there.

And garlands gay, each shepherd weaves,
Fresh gather'd from their flow'ry tomb,
To grace the brow of her he loves,
While each deplore their early doom.

But when a youth unfaithful proves,
Deserting her he loved before,
Low at the grave of Ladolin,
Does the sad maid her woes deplore.

And ev'ry flower that decks the grave
Of Claribelle and Leontine,
Will wither, fade, and die away,
If lovers' false the garland twine.

IMITATION OF A FRENCH SONG,

IN WAVERLY.

I own my heart beats high for one,
But not for a lad like thee;
For he has a beard upon his chin,
And a bonny sparkling ee!
Lon, Lon, Laridon.

Who has a broad sword by his side,
And a spur upon his shoe,
With a tow'ring plume of feathers dark,
That he wears in his bonnet blue!
Lon, Lon, Laridon.

Who can play a lilt upon the fife,
Who can love a lassie gay,
And who from the battle's deadly strife,
Will never turn away!
Lon, Lon, Laridon.

IMITATION

OF WALTER SCOTT'S “HUNTSMAN REST!” &c. IN THE LADY OF THE LAKE.

Sailor rest! while round thy head,
Fairy sylphs the watch are keeping,
Peaceful sleep! for near thy bed,
Are no wakening sunbeams peeping.

Welcome to thy native shore!
Far from ocean's noisy dashing,
Sheltered from the thunder's roar,
And the forked lightning flashing.

Sailor rest! and dream of peace,
Let all thought of warfare cease!
Love and joy, and blessings greet thee,
Here no lurking foe shall meet thee,
Here no lurking foe shall meet thee!

BALLAD IN THE TWO QUEENS,

A TALE UNPUBLISHED.

PART I.

She came to the sea beach, where dashed the white spray,
When the sun was fast sinking beneath the blue sea,
She clasped her fair hands, and she strained her dark eye,
In hopes him she loved on the waves to espy!

He came not, alas! he was far from her sighs!
And the rocks echoed hollow his name to the skies:
Her tears trickled fast down her cheek, pale and cold,
And the wind gently waved her long tresses of gold.

But the moon rose full brightly, the night air was chill,
And slowly she wound up the forest crown'd hill;
And she reached her own palace, which hid from her view,
The beach where she bade her lost lover adieu!

PART II.

Again the sun sunk in the far western sky,
And the waves gently dashed 'gainst the rocks dark and high;
Again came the maid of the bright golden hair,
Her pale cheek denoting her bosom's despair.

Long, long did she wait, but he did not return,
Ah, no! he had left her to weep and to mourn.
She pressed her white hand to her bosom of snow,
While tearless she gazed on the ocean below.

Distracted with fears all the night she remained,
Of his falshood, his cruelty, loud she complained,
Till the grey dawn appeared, and she hastened away
To her palace, in sorrow to hail the next day!

PART III.

'Tis ev'ning again, and again comes the maid,
But she rests on the hill 'neath a willow's green shade:
She smiled as, in anguish, she turned her blue eye,
Where the dark waters met with the low bending sky.

“He is not returned! and all hope is now fled:
Ah! too true, he is faithless!” distracted she said:
The nightingale warbled her notes in the air,
But they sooth'd not her grief, nor her heart-felt despair.

She rose in her tears, and she murmured farewell!
To the youth, who though false, yet she still loved so well.
She raised the fell dagger, she struck the sure blow,
Which has buried the steel in her bosom of snow!

SONG,

IN THE SAME.

Bright is the sun on the distant mountains,
Gay are his beams on the emerald sea;
Fair in the groves blow the fragrant zephyrs,
But fairer are Rosial's charms to me.

Bright is the sun-flower pensive drooping,
Soft beams the moon with her lustre so fair;
More bright to me seem the golden ringlets
Of Rosial's soft curling yellow hair.

Here ev'ry eve, to this lone spot I wander,
While she, free from sorrow, is gay as the air;
Ah! little her thoughts do her sad lover follow,
Each hour while he sighs for his Rosial fair!

THE SYLPH'S SONG.

Blythe we dance by light of the moon-beam,
In the meads, where murmurs the cool stream,
While our footsteps tread the ground,
Still is babbling echo's sound.
Sister sylphs, each, tell thy story,
Ere the sun arise in glory.
Haste our dance, that we may tell
All on earth, that us befel;
How we stole young warriors' love,
How we did their hearts remove
From fair maids they vowed before,
True to love for evermore.
How we stole sweet habes away,
And in place young elves we lay:

How we joy'd to see her pain,
And to hear the mother's plain.
How we witched young maidens fair
Like to beasts in shape and air.
Hasten! tell the pleasing story,
Ere the sun arise in glory!

SONG,

IN A TALE UNPUBLISHED.

Alas! she is gone that I loved,
And left her fond shepherd to mourn,
She ne'er eased my pain by a smile,
And now, she will never return;

Her tresses shone bright like the sun,
And soft was the light of her eyes;
Her hand was the lily so white,
Ne'er destined for mortals the prize!

She was all my fond soul could adore!
Tho' she treated my love with disdain;
Yet I'd bear to be pierc'd by her frowns,
Could I ever behold her again.

But now she no longer can hear,
The plaints of her lover so true:
My bosom less anguish would feel,
Had I bade her one parting adieu!

SONG.

[Soft, ye daughters of the mountains]

Soft, ye daughters of the mountains,
Stir not, nor awake my love!
Rest, ye nymphs, beside your fountains,
Nor his dreams of bliss remove.
He, whom I love, is like the lily fair,
With him I love, none other can compare.
His eyes are as the dove's,
His cheek the red rose loves,
And soft as the down is his raven hair.

Arise! arise! thou gentle zephyr,
And o'er each fragrant garden rove,
Then, as he sleeps, thy task be ever,
To breathe those sweets upon my love.
Ah! hear'st thou not the turtle's voice,
Ah! see'st thou not the flowers are springing,
And azure clouds the skies rejoice;
While in the bowers the thrush is singing.

Rise, my love, and come away!
Waste no more in sleep the day,
Let us haste, where in the grove,
We shall hear those songs of love;
Longer rest thy love denies,
Treasure of my heart arise!
Haste, my love, and come away!

PARAPHRASE

OF THE 120TH AND 121ST PSALMS.

When o'er my soul grief spread its baleful power,
To Heaven I turned in sad affliction's hour:
Ah, why! I cried, am I thus doom'd to stray,
'Mongst men whose hearts delight in error's way?
Long have I dwelt where peace is never known;
Where godlike virtue far away is flown;
And when my heart in vain to follow tries,
Subdued by scorn, the spark of goodness dies!
I'll cast my sight where yonder hills appear,
Whose sounds of comfort meet my listening ear.
Forsaken by the world, to God I'll turn,
With holy rapture shall my bosom burn.
Behold! the glorious guard of Israel's host,
Protects his people o'er the dang'rous coast:

He guides my bark when stormy billows roll,
And dread destruction hovers o'er my soul:
To him then shall my wand'ring spirit soar,
And find a resting-place for evermore!

PARAPHRASE

OF THE 94TH PSALM.

Oh Thou! who reign'st with vengeance at thy hand,
And whom alone just vengeance can command;
Arise thou mighty judge of all the world!
And save thy people, to destruction hurl'd.
Arise! in all thy terrors strike the proud,
And with thy voice subdue the boasting crowd.
How long unpunish'd shall their deeds remain,
Who shut their ears against the stranger's plain;
Who list' with scornful looks the widow's cries,
While murder'd round her tender offspring lies;
Then say, disdainful, ‘God can never know—
‘The Lord looks not on actions here below.’
Take heed, and tremble, O ye most unwise!
Say, what is hidden from the Maker's eyes?
He who thine eyes has fram'd, which see their tears,
Does He not see the causers of their fears?
The Lord who made thine ears, which hear their sighs,
Shall He be deafen'd to his children's cries?

Or He that teacheth knowledge to mankind,
What dreadful punishments shall he not find,
Who knows the thoughts of man, which are but vain?
How blest is he who can his favour gain!
Whom He supports, until the pit be made
In which the wicked shall at length be laid.

MELANCHOLY.

Oh thou! who lov'st the ev'ning gale,
To breathe thy sorr'wing measure;
Who stop'st the moon to hear thy tale,
And shun'st each scene of pleasure.
Oh thou! when deepest shades descend,
Who seek'st the waving willow;
If thou wilt be my pensive friend,
My breast shall be thy pillow.
And thou, thy white and shining wing
Who bathes within the ocean;
And roam'st where mournful mermaids sing,
And hear'st their soft emotion;
Oh stay awhile thy wand'ring flight,
And cease thy cry of sorrow,
And join the warbling bird of night:
We part before to-morrow.

'Tis but at eve we ask thy stay,
For when the sun appearing,
Does o'er the earth its power display,
To happy hearts so cheering:
'Tis then we part; for sadness shuns the day.
When the first dew-drops gild the hawthorn spray
We'll say farewell! nor more thy flight delay.

A DREAM.

“There is a popular tradition in Wales, that King Arthur did not die, but was carried away by fairies to some place, where he will remain some time, and then return again to earth, and reign in as great authority and power as ever.”—Ancient Ballads.

[_]

Some believe that he is still on earth in the form of a raven, and their superstition is so great that they will not upon any account kill one of those birds.

At eve as by a wandering stream I laid,
And balmy winds around me gently play'd,
Sweet Morpheus wav'd his wings above my head,
And buds of scarlet poppy o'er me spread;
While airy sylphs my weary eyelids close,
And fann'd me with their breath to sound repose.

Methought there rose from out the silver flood
A fairy form which bright before me stood.
It clasp'd me as I slept, and soar'd on high
To distant worlds unseen by mortal eye.
At length it stopp'd above a flowry plain,
Suspended in the skies by airy chain.
There sunk in sleep behold a warrior lay,
While nymphs around soft airs of music play;
And now he started, now he grasp'd his brand,
Then smil'd, and wav'd in sign of peace his hand,
Till sooth'd his slumbers by the attending train,
He clos'd his eyes, and sunk to rest again.
I question'd then my beauteous fairy guide,
Who, kind attending, thus at length reply'd:
“The knight thou see'st is well to mortals known,
“And once in triumph sat on Britain's throne;
“By friends admir'd, and dreaded by his foes—
“What infant but the name of Arthur knows?
“But none below know how the hero died;
“Conjecture only has the tale supplied.
“By some 'tis said he yet on earth remains,
“And in the figure of a raven reigns;
“And some believe, by mermaids borne away,
“In Neptune's court he lives beneath the sea:
“But unto mortals 'tis not given to know
“How he forsook their transient realms below.
“His restless spirit no reward could please,
“Tho' borne by sylphs thro' air, thro' earth, and seas.
“On conquest and on glory still he thought,
“And sigh'd for all the battles he had fought;

“'Till pitying heaven its kind assistance lent,
“And to this flow'ry plain his spirit sent.
“Here, war and conquest now his dreams employ,
“Which while he liv'd on earth was all his joy.
“At every three years end his eyes unclose,
“And for a time he leaves his sound repose.
“When to the Land of Bliss by zephyrs borne,
“Where joy is constant—there he breathes forlorn;
“And at a twelvemonth's end returns again,
“T'enjoy his dreams upon the flowry plain.”

The genius ceas'd, and long I begg'd to know,
How first he left for heaven the realms below.
And now I hop'd the mystery to see,
Ne'er shown to other mortal than to me;
When to my fear I found my guide was gone,
And I amidst the skies was left alone:
'Till seiz'd by hands unseen, my form was hurl'd,
I woke, extended in our nether world,
And rose, lamenting that my dream was vain,
Resolv'd to drive King Arthur from my brain,
And live, content in darkness to remain.

ON READING THE ACCOUNT OF THE BATTLE OF WATERLOO.

Oh! who can listen with delight
To tales of battles won?
And who can hear without affright
The news of war begun.
Oh when the glory does their hearts inspire,
Did they reflect what woes some bosoms fire?
Oh did their thoughts fly to the battle plain,
And mark the writhing agony and pain,
And hear the cries, and see the bleeding slain!
Ah! sure no more their hearts with joy would bound,
But shrink in horror from the vict'ry's sound.
While thro' the streets the news of conquest spread,
Each parent listens with consuming dread.
Those shouts of triumph breath'd from every tongue,
Some anxious heart with agony has wrung.
The meanest soldier sunk to death's repose,
Has caus'd some breast to feel affliction's throes:
How can they bear each joyful shout to hear,
Which still renews remembrances so dear!
Oh! long may battle's terrors cease!
Be war and vengeance fled;
That Europe, wrapt in lasting peace,
May rest her laurell'd head!

VERSES, ON THE PICTURE OF THE KING OF ROME, HOLDING VIOLETS, WITH THIS MOTTO:

“Elles sont tous pour mon Pere et la France.”

The sun was bright when first I cull'd these flow'rs,
To make a garland for my father's brow;
But since, dark clouds have chas'd the sunny hours,
And all my violets are wither'd now.

I bound them with a little thread of gold,
And sweet they bloom'd, and look'd so fair and gay;
I dreamt not that I should their leaves behold
All dead and wither'd in one cloudy day!

Alas! no more they suit my father's hand;
Tho' some have told me they are like his fate;
But should I give him such a faded band,
'Twould but remind him of his fallen state!

Sweet France! fair garlands too I weav'd for you,
But like my father's they have pin'd away;
It made me weep to see their brilliant hue—
Their purple lustre fallen to decay.

Yet they have kept their fragrant odour still,
And shall not in my grief be cast away;
No—those blue leaves shall now my bosom fill,
Which once I hop'd Napoleon's would display.

I'd rather keep my vi'lets, tho' they're dead,
Than have a lily or a new-blown rose.
I'll strive no more to mourn their beauty fled,
But only think what sweets they now disclose.

NAPOLEON,

ON HIS RESIDENCE IN ST. HELENA.

Ye wand'ring winds that round my island blow,
Say, do you bear upon your waving wings,
A fearful sigh, breath'd sadly o'er my woe,
A mournful voice that of my sorrow sings?

Thou roaring sea, loud dashing on my shore,
Say, does upon thy waters roll a tear,
Shed o'er my splendid honours, now no more,
By one to whom my glories yet are dear?

Thou whisp'ring willow, by the fountain's side!
Oh could thy leaves the pleasing sound impart,
That still, though sunk in Fortune's fickle tide,
My woes are pitied by some feeling heart!

Ah! could the breezes, which thy branches wave,
To ease my sorr'wing bosom make reply;
“Oh thou! who once dread laws to nations gave!
“Thy griefs, fall'n hero! yet shall claim a sigh.”

SULIN,

A TALE.

The sea was calm, and bright the morning sun
Upon the glitt'ring rocks resplendent shone:
His ray, at which each shadowy vapour fled,
Edged every rolling wave with golden red.
The lofty ships seem'd, as he rose on high,
Like gliding spots dark thro' his orb to fly;
The crimson clouds, his curtains chased away,
Left him o'er earth his glories to display.
Four blooming youths had sought the ocean's shore,
With fearless hearts they braved the billows' roar:
With healthful strength they dashed the waves aside,
And oft they dived beneath the foaming tide.

While thus they sported 'midst the waters blue,
A Dolphin's form appeared before their view;
Bright purple scales his shining back display'd,
With scarlet spots and golden stars o'erlay'd:
His head and fins, the emerald's brilliant die,
His tail was gold, and dash'd the waves on high.
With wonder struck, the youths around him throng,
While thus, from 'neath the waters, rose a song:

“He who will dare, with dauntless mind,
“The wonders of the wave to try,
“Shall, borne before the yielding wind,
“Behold whate'er can please his eye!

“He who will trust the dolphin's pow'r,
“Shall go where'er his wishes please:
“Shall reach the land, tho' storms should low'r,
“And tho' 'twere distant o'er the seas.

“And shall, with but a wish, return
“Unto his native land again.
“Then haste, the fears of danger spurn,
“And tempt the wonders of the main!”

Before the voice had ceased, which sweetly sung,
Upon the dolphin's back, young Sulin sprung!
The glittering pilot swiftly sailed away,
And left his gazing friends in strange dismay:
They watched awhile, then hast'ning to the shore,
The wondrous tidings to his parents bore.

What grief may now in ev'ry eye be seen,
What pitying crouds flock o'er the village green!
Each strove to ease the tender mother's pain,
And bade her hope he would return again.
To Fonar's cave she bends her steps in fear,
And thus she greets the bard's attending ear:
“Oh, son of song! call forth thy pow'rful art,
“And raise thy spells to cheer my drooping heart.
“Oh! tell me, will my Sulin e'er return?
“Or am I, in my age, condemned to mourn!
“Dear, lovely youth! thou wert my only pride.
“What other son have I to love beside!”
The minstrel waved his locks of silver grey,
Then raised his voice, and drove her fears away:
“I deem'd not, when thou cam'st with tearful eyes,
“Thy son had gain'd the favour of the skies!
“I thought not, when I heard thy sorrowing tale,
“How little cause thou had'st thus to bewail!
“The dolphin who has ta'en thy son from thee,
“Will bear him far, where many wish to be:
“When twice three months are passed he will return,
“Go thou in peace away, and cease to mourn!”
The happy mother back returns again,
And with her tidings cheers her partner's pain:
To all the neighbours soon the news went round,
And peace once more in every heart was found.
In every breast, save one, was fear removed,
But sad Alona still affliction proved!
She heard with joy, that Sulin would return,
But still his absence gave her cause to mourn.

None but her mother knew her heartfelt pain,
She loved! and feared she was not loved again!
And yet she ceased not, ever! to adore,
But silent cherish'd still the love she bore!
But say, why should such fear invade her breast?
Why should pale grief deprive her mind of rest?
For never yet was maiden seen more fair?
And none for mildness could with her compare.
Her filial tenderness admired was known,
Beauty her form, her mind was Virtue's throne.
But Poverty with stern relentless eye,
Had bade each mercenary suitor fly!
For true-love now is out of fashion grown,
Or Av'rice choaks the seed as soon as sown.
Her aged mother was her only pride,
With her o'er former happy days she sigh'd.
But yet she deem'd she ne'er had cause to sigh,
Until the day that Sulin met her eye!
But oh! his father was a wealthy swain,
His thoughts were bent on riches and on gain;
His heart was proud and sought a wealthy bride,
To whom his only son should be allied.
Oft had Alona careless heard his fame,
But now she feared to hear of Ardan's name!

And now, at length, six weary months were o'er,
All flocked impatient to the ocean's shore,
The young adventurer's return to hail,
Impatient all to hear th' expected tale.

And some perchance desired the story more,
Than the narrator's safe return to shore.
For envious thoughts by some were entertain'd,
That he above their sons had fortune gain'd.
The anxious mother strain'd her eager eye,
In hopes her Sulin on the waves to spy:
And fond Alona too at distance stood,
With tearful looks survey'd the foaming flood.
At length the wished-for sight their eyes behold,
But now the dolphin bore a shell of gold;
Around the shell bright rubies glittered gay,
And soft reclined within young Sulin lay.
No longer now a shepherd's garb he wore,
But crimson robes with pearls embroidered o'er;
Bright silver sandals graced his feet so fair,
A golden crown confined his raven hair,
The shining dolphin proud his burthen bore,
And thro' the billows rolling, reached the shore.
The altered youth sprung forward to the land,
And joy'd to see the croud in wonder stand:
Beneath the waves the dolphin disappear'd,
While all around the swains his coming cheer'd.
But all his friends his heart in pride forgot!
Majestic soon he reach'd his father's cot.
There, as the train assembled round the board,
In fancied state, he dreamt himself their lord:
And now, as eager gazed the listening clan,
With inward joy young Sulin thus began:
“Swift thro' the sea the dolphin sailed along,
“And oft I grieved I yielded to the song,

“Which now I found was but the sea-maid's wile
“To lure me, whom she loved, to reach her isle.
“At length we stopped where land appear'd to view,
“And on the banks delicious flowers there grew:
“A train of nymphs the dolphin soon surround,
“Who swiftly bore me to their verdant ground.
“They clothed me in a robe of richest die;
“They placed me in a gilded chariot high;
“Four milk-white swans were harnessed to the car,
“And thus I reach'd the sea-maid's hall of spar.
“There, in the midst, I saw the lovely fair!
“A wreath of roses bound her silken hair,
“Her starry robe was of celestial blue,
“And 'neath her feet fresh springing flo'rets grew;
“Her fragrant breath perfumed the passing air,
“Oh! ne'er on earth, was seen a form so fair!
“Vain should I try my welcome to relate,
“I shared her pleasures, and I shared her state;
“My grateful heart was soon with love beguiled,
“I knew no joy but when my princess smiled.
“At length I gain'd the promise of her hand,
“But first I begged to see my native land,
“One week alone my princess bade me stay,
“Her heart, she said, would grieve I were away!
“I did not promise to return again,
“My heart was pleased, and proud to cause her pain!
“No more before her feet I'll deign to bow,
“For as her lord, she must receive me now.”

And now, twice o'er a week, had passed away,
And still the haughty youth at home would stay.
He little deem'd that thus he lost his bride,
Her tow'ring heart would never brook his pride!
One eve, as sunk in sleep he lay reclined,
Her wrathful form appear'd before his mind,
And thus she cried aloud:—“Presumptuous swain!
“Thy air-built dreams of bliss and power are vain.
“Shall she, to whom the highest kings would bow,
“To be a slave to thee, descend so low?
“No; deem not I thy absence e'er shall mourn,
“For, as my lord, thou never shalt return!”
The angry maiden vanish'd as she spoke,
And Sulin, struck with strange dismay, awoke.
With fearful haste he gain'd the ocean's shore,
The clouds are dark and wild the billows roar!
He made the signal, and his faithful guide,
Soon rose to view from 'neath the parting tide.
Borne o'er the sea, he reach'd the wish'd for isle,
But there no longer fragrant flow'rets smile.
Dark waving cypress nodded o'er the steep,
And dismal sounds were heard beneath the deep!
No more a train of nymphs surround him now,
But shrieks assail him from the depths below:
The dolphin sunk beneath the roaring wave,
And none was near th' affrighted youth to save!
Vain were his efforts to regain the land,
Prevented by a secret pow'rful hand.
His strength was gone, his fear-struck senses fled,
The raging billows closed above his head!

And, as he yielded up his gasping breath,
He found his welcome in the arms of death!

Soon as the rising sun proclaim'd the dawn,
His parents found their much-loved son was gone:
And tho' no fears of danger haunt their breast,
A secret dread deprives their mind of rest.

And now, Apollo's brilliant course was o'er,
And sad Alona sought the sea-beat shore;
There, seated on a rock, she watched the wave,
But little deem'd it was her lover's grave!
Till op'ning wide a gulf the waters blue,
Display'd the hapless Sulin to her view!
Her frantic eyes the sight of horror meet,
The billows dash'd him at Alona's feet!
She shriek'd, and sinking on her lover's breast,
Her weary spirit sought the realms of rest!

The village swains next morn, their corses found,
With frantic cries, their parents flock around,
With mournful care they laid them in one grave,
And taught the willow o'er the spot to wave!
Alas! 'twere vain their parents grief to shew,
Enough, that death has ended now their woe:
And some who live their sorrows to bewail,
Shall tell the traveller their mournful tale!

TO THE MERMAID.

Oh! clasp me in thy silken arms,
Oh! bind me in thy powerful charms,
Oh! chase my mortal heart's alarms,
And let me range with thee!

With thee, sweet Syren! might I go,
Thro' ocean's pearly caves below,
I'd leave all joys that earth can show,
To dwell beneath the sea.

There would I build a bow'r of spar,
And watch secure the billows war,
And view the tossing ship from far,
Sink in a wat'ry grave:

Then would I with the mermaid train,
Arise, and hasting through the main,
Restore each form to life again,
Each gallant sailor save!

Oh, tell me, when the storms assail,
And deaf'ning billows wild prevail,
Does Neptune hear the fearful wail,
And kind assistance show?

Methinks an answer meets mine ear,
They straight a Triton's image bear,
Or dolphin's glitt'ring shade appear,
And form his court below.

WRITTEN ON AN EVENING IN AUTUMN.

The air is chill, and gloomy eve
Spreads wide her robe of misty grey;
The sun has ta'en his crimson vest,
And dimly fades his sinking ray.

That brilliant sun, which now no more
Consents to shed his cheering day,
Once heeded not th' approach of time,
But still with eve was wont to stay.

And till his peerless sister rose,
And frowning chid his long delay,
With warm benevolence impressed,
He tarried on his golden way.

Then, as I watched his slow decline,
The mournful night-bird raised her note;
And dirges to his absence drear,
On ev'ry zephyr seem'd to float.

But ah! more cause have they to rise,
For now he flies when eve appears,
And now he blames the lagging time,
Nor heeds deserted ev'nings tears.

And when fair Dian rises bright,
No more she chides his ling'ring stay,
For now he shuns the face of night
And hastes to shroud his piercing ray.

Instead of Summer's gentle breeze,
Which at my open window blew,
The rude and stormy winter wind,
His dreary power will soon renew.

And seen, but in a darkened frown,
Far off the sun will soon appear;
Nor shall we hail his smiles again,
Till Spring shall bring another year.

WINTER.

There dwells within a cave full drear and rude,
Where never light of day has dared t'intrude,
And where stern Silence safe and lone can brood,
An aged man, with locks of iron grey,
Who rests upon his staff in solemn mood,
And from whose haunts all joy is far away.

Around him drift huge flakes of falling snow,
And near his door sad leafless alders grow,
The hooting owl does well his cavern know,
And raises high her voice amid the gloom:
A crown of icicles surround his brow,
And ne'er beneath his eye will flow'ret bloom.

When bright Apollo sad withdraws his ray,
Weak mortals own his stern and rugged sway;
They call him Winter, for his absence pray,
And dread to see his face so dark and drear,
And joy when Spring the Seer has chased away,
And with her sprightly face does in the meads appear.

Betula alnus, or the alder tree, is of a straggling growth. It flourishes in swampy places, the roots poison the herbage and rot the soil. Vide Wathins's Cyclopœdia.

TO MY BROTHER,

AT SCHOOL.

Fair bloom the flowers in Rokeby's vale,
And birds on Kirby's verdant side,
Pour mellow murmurs to the gale,
Which breathes along the banks of Swale,
And swells with waves its gentle tide.

There, where my thoughts will often stray,
Thy form arises to my view;
Now bent on youthful sports, and gay
As the swift winds which round thee play,
Thy transient griefs soon chased away,
And ever seeking pleasures new.

And now I see, when mirth is o'er,
That eye so bright with cheerful glee,
Intent th' allotted task explore,
And o'er the page of learning pore;
While talent lends her power to thee.

Oft will my thoughts each word recall,
Which bade the mournful sigh remove,
And caused the tear no more to fall,
And bent the mind to Pleasure's call,
Of her who claims our mutual love.

Whatever studies may engage,
To thee my thoughts will still incline:
For if I read in Shakspeare's page,
Of Falstaff's wit, Othello's rage,
Fluellen's ire, Prince Harry's gage,
How oft those fav'rite themes were thine!

The Eastern Bard's exalted strain,
But shew those lines so loved by thee:
How have we wept with mutual pain!
And still have sigh'd and sigh'd again,
At those sweet tales of misery!

Or if the Northern Minstrel's lays
Shall cheer me with their dulcet power,
Their measures still a sigh will raise,
For Rokeby's towers his numbers praise,
Where passes now my Dudley's days,
Who in those scenes spends many an hour!

When tedious years are passed away,
And when thou art to manhood grown,
Oh! still may joy attend thy way!
And Fortune in her bright array,
Her fairest smiles to thee display,
Those smiles to man but little known!

But chief, may Virtue be thy guide!
While Honour's road thy steps pursue,
With such attendants at thy side,
Unshaken still, tho' Fortune chide,
Thy soul shall spurn her wav'ring tide,
And keep the glorious path in view!

Lord Byron.

Walter Scott.

ON TWO ROSES,

PRESENTED ME BY A FRIEND.

Fair emblems of a friendship pure,
Whose beauties charm my gazing eye,
Oh! did those charms for age endure,
'Twould bid me hope that Friendship ne'er can die.

To you the lonely nightingale
Pours oft her mellow notes of love;
Oh! did your beauties never fail,
'Twould bid me hope that Love can constant prove!

But when I view your falling leaves,
My heart reflects with fearful sigh,
The dreary thought my bosom grieves,
‘Will, as those charms, the giver's Friendship die?’

And, as I watch each drooping head,
‘Ah! is it thus, I cry, with love?
Thus wand'ring wide by Fancy led,
So cold and faithless will each lover prove?’

While thus in sorrow dreamt my heart,
One flower its head in fragrance raised,
It claim'd my ear on Friendship's part,
And thus with silver voice my sense amazed:

“Why vain dost thou my beauty mourn?
“Mistaken is thy wav'ring mind,
“For tho' my outward charms are gone,
“A perfume sweet still in my leaves you find.

“Thus Friendship scorns and passes by
“Bright Beauty's bloom so fresh and frail;
“To mind alone she turns her eye,
“Which like the rose's scent shall never fail!”

The lovely flower again reclin'd
While the twin rose sweet touch'd my ear;
The voice was soft as gentle wind,
And bade me thus Love's vindication hear:

“Think not that Love thus pines away,
“Because my drooping leaves repose:
“Not so shall ev'ry flame decay—
“Draw not such erring lesson from the rose.

“When with my sister flower I grew,
“High on the stem, in beauty gay,
“Then like true love I rose to view,
“Till from my parent stalk thus borne away.

“Tho' parted from that fragrant tree,
“Did not ev'n then my charms remain?
“Thus constant love blooms fair and free,
“Tho' doom'd the objects ne'er to meet again.

“And thus I flourish'd, parted far,
“Till Time relentless bade me die:
“Thus Love will live amid despair,
“And after death, claims an admiring sigh!”

THE END.